


Reboot

by Jheselbraum



Category: Speed Racer: The Next Generation (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon Rewrite, Everyone is LGBT, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29634144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jheselbraum/pseuds/Jheselbraum
Summary: Forty years after Speed Racer made his debut on the professional circuit, the world of stunt racing has changed dramatically. Following a recent rise in young, inexperienced drivers taking to the circuits long before they're able to handle themselves on racetracks that are only getting more and more dangerous, Spritle Racer and several other prominent figures in the sport have founded racing schools, meant to give young drivers the skills they need to survive even the most dangerous courses.Speed Racer was a major proponent of these schools, even moving to America so he could help his brother found Racer Academy. Rumor has it, he also wanted easier access to Utah's Salt Flats, so he could test an experimental car engine that was supposed to be the fastest anyone had ever seen.Before it could be completed, he vanished.Sixteen years later, when a mysterious orphan enrolls at Racer Academy, strange things start to happen.
Relationships: X Racer/Annalise Zazic
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Reboot

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly can't believe I'm finally posting this rewrite-- it's been in development for a very long time. Regardless, this rewrite was written so even people who haven't seen Speed Racer: The Next Generation can pick up the fic and know what's going on, so if you like what you see here feel free to recoMmend it to friends.

It’s a hot day in northwestern Utah— it’s usually a hot day in Utah, to be fair, but the low vibrations of the bus’ engine, the binder under his shirt, and the duffle bag in the teen’s lap make it worse. Even so, he leans against the bus window no matter how hot— how else would he see the armadillo just barely skittering to safety on the other side of the road, out of the bus’ path? The blur of the mountains in the distance? It’s not like he has much else to do. His clothes are covered in dust and grease— there’s a burn mark on his face from where an air-bag collided with it, and a few cuts with stitches. His brown hair is still a little messy, sticking up in the back. Most of the other passengers give him a wide berth, until the bus comes to a stop in front of a large complex of modern looking buildings, shining in the early morning sun.

He smiles, practically running off the bus, bag trailing behind him as he sees it, in person, for the first time—

Racer Academy.

He makes sure to look both ways and, not seeing anything but the fading exhaust of the bus as it continues on its route, starts to cross the street—

He doesn’t hear the screeching of rubber on asphalt until it’s almost too late, the red Corvette— brand new, well kept, is that driver sneering at him as she literally _drifts_ the car around him in the _middle of the road—_

Still blinking dust out of his eyes, the teen squints at the car now parked in the middle of the road in disbelief.

“Hey, kid—” One of them, in the passenger seat, says something he can’t make out without adjusting his hearing aids.

“What?” He asks, once he’s got the volume back up. 

“Why are you standing in the middle of the road?” Passenger Seat Boy asks. Something about him looks familiar, but… no, it can’t be, right? Sure, he’s a Japanese American teenager with perfectly coiffed brown hair, a giant X tattoo on his right Arm, and he’s riding shotgun in a brand new Corvette currently parked outside of Racer Academy, but that doesn’t mean _this_ is _X Racer,_ right?

_Shit,_ he thinks. _This is X Racer._  
  
 _Okay, be cool, be cool, be cool—_

“Oh,” he points to the school. “I was just going to the school! I just got off the bus—” 

“Great, another newb!” says the driver, a tall, strawberry blonde girl in a high collared tank the same red shade as her car. Her bangs are curled in waves that frame her face, but her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail that still reaches down to her waist. He has no idea who she is, and he doesn’t know who the bottle blonde twins— one with the barest hint of a goatee, the other with a carefully coiffed mullet— in the seat behind her are, but he knows they’re rich, judging by their designer tracksuits.

“Chill out, Annalise.” X Racer— _the X Racer, son of Speed Racer and basically the top up-and-coming student racer in the world—_ glares at Annalise, though the two kids in the back snicker along with her. _Huh, guess the stars really are just like us…_

Then X actually turns back to him and smiles. “You need a lift?” He asks, which earns him a glare from Annalise.

“Oh! Sure, that’d be great,” he says, and maybe now’s a good time to bring it up, since he’s coming around the passenger side and all? “Oh, hey,” he says, casually, gesturing to the tattoo. “You’re X Racer, aren’t you? I’ve seen you race, like, a million—”

The car surges forward, the teen just barely jumping back in time to avoid getting crushed.

He flounders for a second. Uh, what? Are those kids in the back laughing at him? They look like they’re laughing, but—

“Oops, sorry!” Annalise smiles back at him.

He. Blinks. “Huh?”

“I said _sorry!”_ Annalise repeats.

“Oh, okay,” he says, approaching the car again. “I— saw you at Daytona! On TV, not actually at the track. You were great!”

“Seriously, dude, we’re gonna be late,” one of the twins says, just as Annalise steps on the gas again.

“Cool it, Annalise!” X says, scowling at her, before turning back to face him. “Yeah, I’m X. This is my girlfriend, Annalise, and the two in the back are Jared and Jesse. What’s your name?”

He smiles, glad at least one of these kids likes him— “Oh, I’m Speed,” he says, before.

Stopping.

To realize.

That he just told X Racer— son of the legendary Speed Racer, who, oh yeah, _vanished off the face of the Earth sixteen years ago, the biggest unsolved cold case of our time—_ that his name was Speed.

Cool, cool cool cool cool cool cool, hey, any chance that bus is coming back so he can stand in front of it?

Jesse, the twin with the mullet, is the first to speak. “Like Speed Racer? Yeah. Right.”

“Well, actually, it’s—” Speed stammers.

“ _—_ You’re joking?” X supplies.

“—My last name is Williamson, actually?” he finishes, shrugging.

Annalise rolls her eyes, making a face. Seems she was right about this newbie— just another crazy fan, he won’t last long here. Not if she has anything to say about it. “Speed, huh? Let’s see if you’re as fast as the real Speed Racer!” she says, though, it’s hard for Speed to actually hear the insult over the sound of screeching tires and another healthy cloud of dust as she speeds off, Jared and Jesse laughing all the way.

“Go, Speed, go!” Jared shouts, his brother joining in.

X, notably, is silent, preferring to stew rather than— rightfully— mock an obsessed idiot.

Speed sighs, and presses onward, following the signs towards the main building— a massive tower, easily thirty stories high. It’s slick, all white limestone and teal tinted glass panes. The foyer is a wide open communal space, leading into a lounge for the students, what looks like a campus store for books and magazines— up above, plaster replicas of famed race cars hang from the ceiling, and the floors above him seem to be a multi level library. Above that, the building has offices for various administrative staff and faculty members.

He smiles, and starts pushing through the crowd of students making their way through the building, looking for a map.

“Excuse me,” he says, trying to get someone’s attention as they walk past. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Headmaster Spritle—” 

He frowns as they ignore him, turning to another group.

“Uh, a little help, please?” 

Most of the students pass him by. 

“Excuse me, I’m new here, could you— point me in the direction of—” 

He’s floundering, the few who notice him just give him directions in passing, too quick for him to pick out above the crowd noise, until the foyer empties, and Speed is left alone.

“—A map? _Anything?”_ Speed groans, looking around the empty foyer for something that can point him in the right direction when there’s a tap on his shoulder.  
  
“—You’re new here, right? I haven’t seen you around,” a girl says. She looks older than him, maybe a senior? African American, with dark skin and a short choppy afro that fades down at the base of her neck. It looks like she’s wearing some sort of mechanic’s uniform, but the top portion is unzipped and the sleeves are tied around her waist, with a plain looking t-shirt underneath. “The Headmaster’s office is in the Turismo Building, top floor. You’re going to want to take the service elevator. It’s the first day of the school year so the regular elevators are gonna be _super_ crowded. The code is 2787.” She blinks, and extends her hand. “I’m Lucy Moore, by the way.”

Speed smiles at her, extending his hand— albeit cautiously. “I’m Speed— Williamson, that is, not like—” 

“Oh, uh— _wow,_ you shouldn’t be teased at _all_ with that name,” Lucy says, making a face. “Good luck. Oh— by the way, you haven’t seen a robot around here, have you? Or a backpack?”

Speed stares at her, takes his hearing aid out, adjusts it, and puts it back in. “I’m sorry, I’m hard of hearing, did you just ask me if I’ve seen a _robot_ around here?”

Lucy nods, unfazed. “Uh, yeah? Long story, actually—” 

— _Ring!_

“Oh man, I’m late for physics— See you later!” Lucy calls, heading off.

“I— oh, okay—” Speed stammers, watching her go. “...Right.” A deep breath. “So, service elevator, because the regular elevators are too crowded—” He goes around a throng of people, students and parents alike, waiting impatiently for an elevator that seems to be making a stop on every floor, if the glass elevator shaft is any indication. He turns the corner, taking a deep breath as he ignores the sign on the service elevator that says ‘Staff Only.’

“Right,” Speed says, taking a deep breath. “2787.”

* * *

Headmaster Spritle Racer’s office isn’t much, all things considered. Off-white walls, simple, hardwood floor. A desk. Some filing cabinets. A jar of hard candies sits on his desk, next to an old family photo with his brothers and parents, and a newer school photo of his nephew. What looks for all intents and purposes to be a stock photo of a chimpanzee they printed out and framed. They’ve aged relatively peacefully, the last surviving child of Daisuke and Aya Racer. They’re shorter than either of his brothers were, but inherited their father’s stocky build. Their dark brown hair hasn’t even started to gray yet, though on days like today they can feel the melanin leaching from their hair.

“—They’re in their office, you can go right in,” they hear Gladys say outside.

Spritle takes a deep breath, clears their throat, and gets another set of paperwork ready.

“Headmaster Spritle?” The young man standing awkwardly in Spritle’s doorway looks _awful._ Dirty clothes, is that an airbag burn on his cheek? “I’m, uh, Speed Williamson.” He winces a little, like he’s already expecting a reaction, but it’s been sixteen years since their brother’s disappearance and Spritle isn’t as easily caught off guard as their nephew.

“Speed, welcome to Racer Academy,” Spritle says, pulling up his file. “Have a seat, let’s talk a moment.”

“Right… I, uh, first I want to talk to you about my car— There was an accident, and my parents think they can fix it but not in time for the qualifying race, and—”

“An accident? Are you alright?” Spritle asks.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Speed says, shrugging it off. “Got rear ended so the insurance is taking care of everything. But it’ll take a while for the car to get fixed and my parents are going to drive it up here. Is— that ok?”

“That’s perfectly fine, but you’ll need a car in the meantime, or we can’t enroll you,” Spritle says. He really wishes they could just rent out cars to students when something like this happens, but, well… They are _race cars._ Can’t exactly go passing them out to teenagers like they’re candy, especially not for their qualifier. Apparently no insurance agency in their right mind would cover something like that, who knew? “Can you fill out these forms for me? We’ll go ahead and get you started on your paperwork even without a car, just in case,” they say, passing a manilla folder to Speed. “Your class schedule will be sent to your student email address once we’ve got all your information in our system, after your qualifying race.”

Speed nods, borrowing a pen.

“So,” Spritle says, clearing his throat. “Why are you here?”

Speed blinks, looking up at Spritle, squinting a little. “Huh?”

“Why are you here?” Spritle repeats. It’s a question they ask every student. “Every year, hundreds of hopeful racers step through that door. Many of them don’t make it past the first week. What makes you any different?”

Speed stares at him, paperwork forgotten, a glint in his eye. “I want to be the best, sir. The best in the world.” His back is straighter as he speaks, chest swelling with the promise.

“Why?” Spritle asks, leaning forward in their desk, meeting Speed’s stare. He’s heard a lot of people in his lifetime say they wanted to be the best. Most of them are gone. “Because you were saddled with the name of the world’s most famous racer? Or are you in this for money and fame?”

“Neither, sir,” Speed says. “I chose this name, and I don’t care about being rich or famous. I just love to drive. I’m pretty good behind the wheel, just watch me when I get on the track—”

“—Pretty good won’t last long around here. To succeed you’ll need skill, determination, hard work, and, if you’re lucky, a few friends to help you out.” Spritle pulls up a projection of the leaderboard on the far wall, gesturing to it. Top spot is X, followed by Annalise, then Jared and Jesse, who only share a spot due to special circumstances. “These are real racers— some of our top students. Maybe you’ll be on there someday. Maybe not.”

Spritle’s phone starts to ring.

“Excuse me while I take this,” they say, putting the phone on speaker.

“Sorry to disturb you, Headmaster,” their receptionist, Gladys, says over the phone. “But we just got a complaint. Apparently Connor’s robot just stole another student’s backpack. Security’s out looking for it, but what should we do about the robot? It’s not a student, we can’t give it detention, but it’s not under Connor’s control, so we can’t give _him_ detention?”

“We can, actually. That robot is Connor’s responsibility, and I don’t want this happening again. Next time it does, there will be consequences. But… give him a warning for now,” Spritle says, a glint in their eye. This happened five times last semester, and Spritle has given this exact response every time.

“...Yes, sir,” she says, sighing, and hangs up.

“Again with the— it’s a robot, it’s not like it’s got a mind of its own, right?” Speed says. “Robots don’t steal stuff, they just assemble machinery and put out fires and do search and rescue stuff, right?”

Spritle shrugs, double checking Speed’s room assignment and smiling a little at the irony. Best leave the explanation up to his new roommate. “Now, be honest: how good are you, really?”

Speed blinks, and takes a deep breath. “...I’m really good at racing. Good enough to build a career out of it, with the right training and experience.”

Spritle nods, smiling at him. “Good. Don’t sell yourself short, son. If you’re good at something— on or off the track— own it.”

“Yes sir,” Speed says, returning the smile and the folder.

“Alright, the pink copies are yours,” Spritle says, handing those back to Speed. “Now, this is the part where I make sure you’ve read all the fine print. Have you been fully briefed on qualifying race procedures? What about accommodations and accessibility options?”

“Yeah, I’m going to head to the accommodations office after this. And I know the top student of the graduating class races against new students during the qualifier. Every new student has to race in the qualifier to sort out their ranking, skill levels, and class placement,” Speed says.

Spritle nods. “So it’s important you have a car, or else you can’t race,” they say.

“But, how am I gonna—” 

Spritle’s phone rings again.

“I’m sorry,” they say, and answer it. “The first day of school is always busy.”

“I— it’s okay,” Speed says, gesturing to the phone. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Sir, the guards had the robot cornered but it stole one of their shoes and ran off!” Gladys says. She sounds frantic, a little exasperated, like she deals with this sort of thing a lot but doesn’t usually have to escalate the situation.

Spritle sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell them I’m coming down there, okay?” He turns to Speed, handing him an RFID card. “I’m sorry I have to cut this short. Here’s your dorm key, you’ll be in the Grand Prix building. Drop your things off and get ready for the qualifying race. Get yourself sorted out, and I’ll see you at the track. Good luck, son.”

Speed nods, taking the keycard and smiling. “Thank you, sir.”

Spritle is the first to leave the room, rushing to the service elevator.

_Great,_ Speed thinks. _Guess I’m taking the stairs._

* * *

It’s a little easier for Speed to find the Grand Prix building, he can just follow the crowd of students with suitcases and duffel bags to the dorms. The building is only two stories tall, there’s another dorm building even further back that’s three stories up, but it feels like they like to keep student housing wider than it is tall, to help justify the size of the property Racer Academy is situated on. As if the full size race track doesn’t do that well enough. From there, it’s just a matter of finding the right room number and scanning the keycard— 

Where he nearly smacks into a scrawny redhead trying to leave the dorm at the same time.

“Oh! You’re the new guy!” he says, pushing his curly hair back out of his eyes and extending his hand. “I’m Connor Brian. What’s your name?”

Speed… takes a moment, to take in the wall to wall Speed Racer posters, action figures, commemorative mugs, and pennant flags, and mentally prepares himself.

“...Speed.”

“Like Speed Racer, right?” Connor asks, grinning.

“...Sure.” He’s honestly considering changing it. It had a good six month run, but this is clearly not working out.

“No way, that’s so cool! I’m a huge Speed fan— er, a fan of _the_ Speed Racer, not you, so, don’t freak out—” 

_Little late for that but okay,_ Speed thinks as he sets his bag down and starts to at least unpack a change of clothes.

At the top of the bag is a red bandana, and a car key.

He stares at it for a moment, trying not to think about it.

One of his dads must’ve packed it before he left.

He takes a deep breath and takes them both, shoving them into his pocket, at least for now.

“Hey, I have the same racing bandana as you!” Connor says, pointing to the identical one tied around his neck. “Speed Racer had one too, he’s the man.”

Speed looks up at that, snapping out of it and blinking at him. “...Sorry, didn’t quite catch all of that. I’m hard of hearing, it helps if I’m looking at you while you talk.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Connor says. “I was just talking about how we have the same Speed Racer bandana.”

Speed glances back at the bag. “Yeah, I guess they are kinda similar…”

“Nobody knows more about Speed Racer or the Mach 5 than I do,” Connor says, puffing out his chest. He’s wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, nothing too fancy, though he is wearing blue presumably to match Speed Racer’s signature look. “I could literally take it apart and put it back together blindfolded!” He blinks. “Well, I could if it still existed, but I’ve recreated a small-scale model. While blindfolded!” He points to a 1/44th scale model of the Mach 5 that, for all intents and purposes, seems to function like the actual car would. Connor presses a button on his phone and tiny saws come out and everything.

“Impressive. And really small,” Speed says.

“It’s crazy that we’re going to school with Speed Racer’s son, right?” Connor says. “Have you met him yet?

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’ve met X,” Speed says. “Wait— X or Speed Racer?”

“X of course, Speed Racer’s been missing for almost seventeen years,” Connor says. “X is great. Not as good as Speed Racer, but better than anyone else at school. And he’s actually not half bad a guy either! I guess you wanna be a racer too, huh?”

Speed nods. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do,” he says. “Headmaster Spritle said I should be getting ready for my qualifying race?”

“Yeah, I never raced a qualifier. I enrolled here when I was 15,” Connor says.

Speed blinks. “Uh. How?”

“The short version is I’m one great mechanic. That’s the only reason I got into this school, they’ve got a killer engineering program and I want to design cars,” Connor says, shrugging. “So, I bet you’ve got a real slick car, right?”

“I… Don’t have a ride,” Speed says, sighing.

“Wh— huh?” Connor asks, blinking. “Is it being shipped separately or something? Where are you from anyways?”

“Or something,” Speed says. “I got rear ended and my parents had to stay behind while they found a mechanic to take a look at it… I told Headmaster Spritle it’d be a few days, but I really don’t know if it’s totaled or not yet. And I’m from Colorado, so even if it isn’t totaled it’s still a nine hour drive just to get here.”

“Well what are you gonna do? You can’t attend a racing academy—” Connor blinks, and makes an amendment. “To learn how to race, without a race car! That’s crazy!”

“I _know_ ,” Speed groans. “Doesn’t the school loan out cars or anything?”

“Nope,” Connor says, shaking his head. “But if you’re not in the engineering program, you have to race.”

Speed flops back on the bed, glaring at the ceiling. “Well what am I supposed to do, then? The qualifier is in what, a half hour?”

“Half an hour,” Connor nods.

“How am I supposed to get a car in half an hour?!” 

Connor thinks for a moment, and is about to say something when there’s a knock at the door.

“Connor! Your stupid robot stole my backpack!” Lucy shouts through the door. “Again! Where is it?!”

“Wait, you stole Lucy’s backpack?” Speed asks, as Connor goes to open the door.

“What? No, I’d never do something like that,” Connor says. “I don’t know where he is, and I haven’t seen the backpack,” he tells Lucy.

“I think Spritle’s out looking for it?” Speed says.

“Oh— hey, it’s you again,” Lucy says, blinking.

“And you again. Welcome to my new home. Or, at least it will be, once I unpack.”

“Oh, good, you’ve met Lucy then,” Connor says.

“She gave me directions. How do you two know each other?” Speed asks.

“We’re _supposed_ to be designing a car together,” Lucy says. “We got paired together last semester, but—”  
  
“But _she_ just wants to do something boring and utilitarian!” Connor huffs.  
  
“For the last time, we are _not_ putting in a button that launches _live spiders_ out of the back of our car!” Lucy huffs.

“I’m the gadget guy! I add gadgets to cars, that's what I _do!”_

“Guys, guys!” Speed wriggles between the two. “Can you two argue about this later? _After_ I’ve found a car?”

“You don’t have a car?” Lucy asks. “How come?”

“Long story,” Speed groans. 

“Oh, wait— I think I have an idea, actually,” Connor says, grinning as he grabs Speed’s hand.

“Uh, hang on, this better not be going where I think it’s going,” Lucy groans, following after them.

* * *

Connor pulls Speed into the private garages, a section of the dorm building for, well. Storing cars. They’re nicer than what Speed could afford, it’s only Connor’s key that gets them in— he’d initially planned to store his car in the student garage, a more communal building whose use is covered by his scholarship.

“Well—” Connor says, gesturing to what can only be described as the worst car in existence. “There she is, your Car!”

The body is completely rusted, parts of it are mismatched and it looks like what used to be a Toyota Corolla, nowhere near a racecar. Speed breathes in its general direction and a hubcap falls off.

“Don’t judge it too harshly,” Connor says, going to replace it. “Small car parts are cheaper than real ones!”

“Connor, the Lost Hero isn’t finished yet,” Lucy says. “Speed can’t drive this!”

“Will it even run?” Speed asks.

“Oh, she’ll run all right. But she's not exactly in top condition, so. You know. Be careful.”

Speed nods. “Right… guess it’s this or nothing, huh?”

Lucy makes a face. “You do have a point there. And at least Connor and I were the ones who made it, so it’s not going to explode on you or anything.” She blinks. “As long as you’re not too rough with it.”

“Yeah! See? Problem solved!” Connor grins, patting the hood. The slight vibration makes the rear bumper fall off.

“Uh-huh, I probably won’t need that,” Speed snarks.

“Let me just get my superglue,” Connor says. “I swear she runs fine! She just needs some quick race prep.”

“And several structural repairs,” Lucy says, sighing as she grabs her tools. “...Okay, okay, let’s just get this over with.”

Speed nods and goes to open the trunk. “Mind if I—”

Inside, there’s a backpack, and a… cube?

Speed blinks, grabbing the bag. “Hey, uh, whose—”

There’s. A mechanical whirring, as the cube starts to vibrate, gears and wires twisting and turning, opening up like some sort of twisted mechanical flower, until— 

“That’s mine!” A mechanical voice says, as the cube grows a hand, grabbing the bag from Speed, then another hand and oh god is that a torso and a _head—_

“AAAAAH!” Speed yells, falling back on his butt. “Wh— _Jesus Christ_ that thing scared the crap outta me!”

“That’s not even _your backpack,_ it’s _mine!”_ Lucy shouts, trying to grab her bag back from the robot that’s materializing before them— god it’s making an awful crunching, whirring sound that makes Speed wince and turn down his hearing aids.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen, it’s the same height as a person, about five foot two, with two wide flat antennas and a pixelated screen for a face, displaying a simplistic little smile and two wide dots for eyes. There’s a shock of bright blue synthetic hair atop its head, probably an attempt to make it less terrifying along with the cute nature of its display. The robot’s internals are mostly housed inside a white torso, and it’s got human looking legs and articulating fingers. For all intents and purposes, it looks like just… a regular human, that happens to be a robot. It seems like it’s pretty stable, actually, it’s currently balancing on one leg and trying to keep Lucy at bay, and Speed’s never seen a robot do anything like that.

Connor looks up from the engine and sighs. “CHIM, what did I tell you about stealing? Honestly, it’s like you were manufactured by wolves sometimes,” he huffs. “You give Lucy her backpack back, right now!”

“No, I’m not done with it yet!” The robot— CHIM, apparently— chirps, though it’s a little hard for Speed to understand it since its ‘lips’ don’t exactly move true to life.

He’s honestly still just. Baffled. “The robot— how’d you—”

Connor grins. “I made him!” He says, helping Speed back to his feet. “I was in my middle school’s robotics club, we were entering an agility competition. CHIM is very dexterous, he can do anything your standard olympic bronze medalist can do!” He looks over to see Lucy still fighting for her bag. “CHIM Model Number 2.7.0 you give Lucy back her bag _right now!”_

CHIM groans, finally handing over the bag. “Fine. I hate it when you use my full name.”

Lucy checks her bag, glaring up at the robot. “My algebra homework _better_ be in here, or I’m making you into a calculator.”

CHIM gasps. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me!”

Speed stares at the exchange. “So— if Jim is—”

“CHIM. Cerebral Humanoid Interface Machine,” Connor corrects. “Also, can you hear him okay? The display files for his face are royalty free so they’re not gonna be super accurate to what he’s actually saying.”

“It’s fine, just… a little tinny.” Honestly Speed isn’t sure he wants to hear CHIM if he’s going to make that whirring sound every time he turns into a cube and back.

Connor nods. “CHIM, give us a hand? We need to get the Lost Hero ready for Speed’s qualifier.”

“Speed?” CHIM blinks and extends a hand for Speed to shake. “You must be our new roommate!”

Speed nods, smiling awkwardly as he shakes CHIM’s hand. “Uh, yeah. Please don’t jump out at me like that again.” 

CHIM nods, and gets to work. “Noted, I won’t jump out at you like that again.” He has absolutely no idea what Speed’s talking about, but humans seem to like it when he says he’ll do something.

Lucy wipes her hands on a nearby rag. “That’s about all I can do for the engine without new parts,” she says, turning to Speed. “Remember, it’s just the qualifier. Finishing is more important than trying to win. It’s a standard standing start race, with a medical car picking up the rear and no pace car. The race is all new students in the racing program against the top student from last semester,” she says. “This year that’s X Racer. I’m assuming you’ve seen him drive before? It’s really rare for a new student to beat the top racer in the school, and no one expects anyone to do it this year.”

“I know, isn’t that cool?” Speed says, grinning. 

“Huh?” Connor raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s— kind of unreal that I’ll be racing against X Racer in, what, fifteen minutes? I don’t care if he gives me a hard time and I don’t care if I don’t beat him, we’ll be racing together. That’s pretty cool,” Speed says. 

“You really are a fan, huh? Are your parents into racing, too?” Lucy asks.

Speed shrugs. “Eh. My parents are supportive, sure, and they keep up with everything because I’m interested, but they’re not too invested in racing.” He… pauses, just for a moment. “My biological parents _might_ have liked racing? They’re the ones who gave me the bandana, and this— old car key,” he says, showing Connor and Lucy the trinkets in question. “Then again, I wasn’t adopted at birth, so it was probably just some story the social workers made up to make me seem more ‘adoptable’ or something.”

“So, do _you_ like Speed Racer, then?” Connor asks.

Speed chuckles a little. “I mean, he had a cool name, I’ll give him that. I just—”

“Sorry to interrupt _social hour_ ,” a deep voice, dripping with sarcasm, says, as a Kazak man with light brown skin and slicked back black hair walks up to the open garage door. He’s wearing an olive green shirt with an imperial collar, and dark brown trousers to match. “But you three are _supposed_ to be at the track.” He speaks in a clipped tone, like he’s trying not to speak with an accent at all but since he learned British English and lives in America, he has one anyways.

“Speed, this is Professor Aniskov, he’s the school’s offensive driving instructor,” Lucy says, moving to stand by Speed.

Speed nods. “It’s… nice to meet you?” He says. “We were just about to head out.”

Aniskov nods. “I take it this young man is one of our new students? Where is your vehicle.”

“Uh, here, I guess,” Speed says, gesturing to the Lost Hero.

“How nice for you,” Aniskov says, making a face.

“I guess so, if it holds together,” Speed says.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Connor says, right as the side view mirror falls off.

Aniskov sighs. So this is the kind of student Spritle is admitting these days? “I suggest you get moving.”

* * *

Connor is the lightest between the four of them, so he’s steering, making sure the car doesn’t run into a wall as Speed pushes it.

Lucy wipes the sweat off her brow, as she and CHIM work on the engine.

“Brake lines are tightened… steering’s been checked,” Lucy mutters to herself.

“The intake valve is clogged,” CHIM says, tilting his head as he unscrews a wing nut, admiring its shine in the light.

“I know the intake valve is— CHIM, put the wing nut back on the air filter!” Lucy huffs.

Speed ignores them, focusing on pushing the car forward, through the track terminal, and up to the starting line.

The arena is _huge,_ with a paperclip-shaped oval racetrack, a professional grade pit area, and just outside the track, a large ditch separating the track from stands packed with spectators. He guesses a lot of them are students and parents, but there’s no way the entire student body is out here, most of them have to be average spectators, here to watch even a qualifying race.  
  
As Connor pumps the brakes, putting the car into park at Speed’s starting position, Lucy looks up at Speed.

“First time at the track?” she asks, as Connor goes under the hood.

Speed nods, still starry eyed. “Y-Yeah,” he says.

“Don’t be too intimidated. Just keep your head, and don’t get hit by the other drivers or your car _will_ fall apart.” She stares at this plucky kid who’s already been in one crash this week, who she’s sending out in a junker that can barely hold itself together. “Just finish the race, and don’t crash out, okay?”

Speed can’t help but stare at the track, the school, he’s _here_ and he’s not going to let this chance slip away. He meets Lucy’s stare with a grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t crash out.”

She nods, and glances over to the pole position.

Just for a second.

X Racer is running some final checks on the Crimson Comet, a sleek red car with a white ‘X’ painted on it. Car number 9. He’s wearing an official racing uniform, it’s fire resistant, mostly white with red triangular markings on the shoulders and the stomach, reminiscent of an X symbol. The look is completed with a HANS device attached to his helmet, which has a black X symbol on the front. “Everything's looking in top shape,” he says, as he closes the hood and looks up at Annalise, who's leaning against the Crimson Comet.

“I already told you everything’s _fine,_ X, you worry too much, it’s just the qualifier,” Annalise says, rolling her eyes as she catches a glance of— 

She snorts, elbowing Jared, who’s standing next to her and his brother. “Hey, look, it’s Speed Bump!” She smirks. 

Jesse and Jared can’t help but laugh, each through a mouthful of Hot dog. “Go, Speed, go!” 

“Get a load of that junker, this is gonna be _classic!”_

“Yeah, he’s—” Jared blinks, tilting his head as he actually looks at the Lost Hero. “That kid’s gonna die.”

“Oh yeah, totally gonna die,” Jesse agrees, nodding solemnly, noting Speed’s plain t-shirt and total lack of proper racing equipment.

Behind them, a tall older man wearing a designer four piece suit walks up to them on the track, snow white hair slicked back, followed by a giant of an assistant, bald and crooked nosed, carrying a silver platter of artisanal kettle cooked nachos covered in gorgonzola and chopped chives.

Zile Zazic deserves only the best, after all.

Annalise sighs. “Hi, Dad,” she says, greeting the old man. _Great,_ she thinks. _He’s so embarrassing!_

“Annalise, pumpkin,” he says, smiling as he greets his daughter. “I trust that you’re well? And X, how are you?”

X blinks, standing up straight to address his girlfriend’s father. “I’m good, Mr. Zazic,” he says, shoulders square, looking Zile in the eye.

Zile chuckles. “Please, I’ve asked you a million times to call me Zile,” he says, warmly, as he puts a hand on X’s shoulder. “Stan! Nacho!” He barks at his assistant, who feeds him a nacho.

“A man of your status deserves respect, Mr. Zazic,” X says, carefully. “After all, you built this track.”

Zile shakes his head, waving his hand. “I didn’t _build_ it, X, I had it built _for me._ Besides, you’re in the Mutual Admiration Club now, we’re on a first name basis!”

X smiles a bit. “If you say so, sir. Thanks.”

“No,” Zile says, grinning. “Thank _you_ , X, for making these races so exciting! Then again, I expect nothing less from the son of Speed Racer.” A pause. “Stan! Nacho!” After a moment, he continues. “It’s the reason I give so much to this school. That, and my little pumpkin here. Stan! Napkin!”

Stan dabs at Zile’s chin with an embroidered cloth napkin.

Annalise smiles awkwardly as she moves in front of X a little bit. “Hey, _Dad,_ everyone knows X and I are great, but the _race_ is about to start,” she says. “Maybe you should go to your _private box now?”_

“Ah, an excellent idea, honey,” Zile says. He glances behind his daughter, and catches a glimpse of some— jalopy. Zile frowns. “X, I want you to get out there and show those new students what racing is all about. Only the _strongest_ drivers deserve to race on _my_ track.” He grins. “I’m sure you’ll make your father proud today.”

X tenses, just a bit, but nods, as Zile says that.

Connor makes one final adjustment, and the car roars to life. "That's about all we can do. She'll run, but for how long, I have no clue, so. You know. You better hurry."

Speed nods, smiling at the three of them. "Thanks, guys," he says. "I owe you for this." He hops in the car, testing the gears a little, revving the engine, and goes to put on his helmet— just a standard, generic blue helmet.

A bullhorn sounds.

Anyone not involved in the race leaves the track and heads to the stands.

_“Ladies and gentlemen!”_ The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeakers, dwarfing the cheering of the crowd. He’s a relatively tall, pale man, with an eyepatch and black slicked back hair and a paintbrush mustache, a red suit with black lapels, a blue bow tie, and a pale pink oxford underneath. He’s standing with Headmaster Spritle on a balcony outside their office. _“Introducing Racer Academy’s newest students! Hailing from New York are sisters Barbara and Judy Bullman! From Ohio, we have Penelope Wedge! From Ireland: Ed Sean McManus! From Canada: Darwin Zilver! From California: Denise Bruce, and from Colorado—”_ A pause, as they clear their throat, accidentally saying into the mic _, “Is this right? Speed? Okay. From Colorado, Speed Williamson! And in the pole position, setting the pace for our new students today, is the son of the legendary Speed Racer— X!”_

The crowd goes wild at the mention of X’s name, giving the announcer enough time to hand the mic over to Headmaster Spritle.

“Ladies, gentlemen, distinguished guests, welcome, to the world’s most advanced race-training facility, the Lovelace Goldminter Speedway, located right here at Racer Academy,” Spritle says. “For some of you, this will be your first chance to race here. For others, it will be your last. Lose focus for a second, and you will fail. Good luck to you all!” Spritle says, smiling as they signal for the countdown to begin.

A holographic projection illuminates itself above the starting line.

_3… 2… 1… GO!_

Tires screech out as the other racers surge forward, leaving Speed to trail behind the pack.

_“And they’re off! X pulls into the lead, followed closely by the number 5 car driven by Barbara Bullman!”_

Speed glances ahead, at the red blur the Crimson Comet makes as it rounds the track’s first turn. His grip on the wheel tightens. “Right. Take it one car at a time.”

Ahead of him, Judy Bullman and Ed Sean McManus are blocking him from the rest of the pack. Ed tries to ram him, sending the Lost Hero rattling into Judy’s orange speedster, rubber tires burning against the pavement.

Speed’s brow furrows. “Alright— you wanna play rough?” He turns into the skid, taking his car around Judy’s and whipping around the other side, cutting around the outside of the track as he makes the first turn.

_“Speed pulls into the pack from dead last, Judy’s spinning out!”_

“Sorry!” Speed calls behind him, nodding as he catches Judy’s recovery in the side view mirror. The Lost Hero is shaking from the stress, the engine screaming in protest as he tries to push further ahead. “C’mon, just hold together—” Speed begs the car, shifting gears as he picks up speed on the straightaway. 

The hood of the Lost Hero rattles, catching on the wind and slamming up against the windshield, cracking it.

“Crap!” 

_“Looks like Speed’s in trouble! The hood has flown up onto the car!”_

Speed grips the wheel, slamming the brakes. “Alright—! You wanna fall apart around me?” He asks, swinging the car around, skidding until he’s sure the transmission won’t fail— 

Then he throws the Lost Hero into reverse.

“I can work with that!” Speed says with a smirk.

_“I don’t believe it! Speed’s driving backwards on the track!”_

The momentum of the spin rips the hood off its hinges, sending it into Penelope Wedge’s engine block.

In the stands, Connor’s shaking Lucy by the shoulders. “Did you _see_ that?” He squeals.

“Yeah, is he off his rocker?” Lucy scoffs, frowning as she watches Speed spin the car back around. “That move is impossible to complete in a clunker like that, the frame can’t take it!”

Connor looks again, and winces. “If he doesn’t blow the transmission first!”

Speed laughs as he floors the gas, skidding into the next turn.

The Crimson Comet is just ahead.

The Lost Hero can’t take it for much longer, it loses a hubcap and a side view mirror to that turn, but Speed floors it anyways, blazing past Barbara and— 

He spares X Racer a passing glance, wide eyed and hardly believing it.

_“Speed takes the lead in the remaining quarter mile!"_

His heart is pounding. Is he— did he really just pass _X Racer?_

X tenses, scoffing as Speed passes him. “Hey!” He presses on the gas, catching up to Speed in an instant, but Speed isn’t letting up.

The Lost Hero can’t take it, the entire frame of the car is shaking and he’s starting to fishtail as he loses the rear bumper.

“Come on just stay with me! Just a little more!” Speed comes into the last turn around the track, barely maintaining a lead, though X is closing in fast, with Barbara Bullman right behind them.

Lucy sighs from the stands as she watches their project fall apart around Speed. “What’d I tell you?”

Speed can see the finish line. He floors the gas, the engine screaming in protest as he starts redlining. “Just a little further, you can make it, just hold on—” 

Barbara makes her move, muscling in between Speed and X, trying to blaze past both of them.

X rams the Crimson Comet into Barbara, sending her into the Lost Hero as X blazes ahead.

“That oughta slow him down,” X says, waving as he passes them and heads for the finish line, an easy victory.

Barbara recovers from the skid, thankful she’ll at least place second, but the collision was too much for the Lost Hero.

“Crap, is that—” Speed squints at the exposed engine, it’s starting to smoke, and then— 

_“And the winner is X Racer, followed by Barbara Bullman—”_ The announcer pauses as a hush falls over the crowd, the spectators getting to their feet. The announcer clears his throat. _“Looks like Speed’s in trouble, his car’s fully engulfed in smoke at the finish line!”_

“That _idiot!”_ X skids the Crimson Comet to a halt, turning the car so it’s parallel to the finish line as he leaps from the driver’s seat in seconds, pushing the gull wing door open and sprinting towards the flaming car.

He’s wearing a standard issue fire resistant racing suit, after all. And he knows that dopey fanboy _isn’t._

From the stands, Connor has a white knuckled grip on Lucy’s arm, wide eyed and staring at the fireball as two fire rescue bots— essentially motorized fire extinguishers capable of being deployed instantly instead of having the fire department standing by when the track is in daily use— start spraying the car. “Oh, no, _Speed!”_ he cries, oblivious to the shock and horror on Lucy’s face as she tenses, counting the seconds. If the fire started in the engine then it shouldn’t move to the cockpit before Speed’s had time to escape, but— 

_“Wait a second, I see something!”_ The announcer gasps, leaning over the balcony to get a better view, lifting his eyepatch (which appears to be a cosmetic choice rather than a medical need).

Speed can’t see a thing.

There’s too much smoke blocking his vision, but the engine is off and he just needs to get out of the car before the fire spreads to the interior. Should be a matter of undoing the five point harness, blind, before he passes out. Opening the door probably isn’t a good idea until he’s ready to get clear, and time is running out as he fumbles with the release mechanism, but it isn’t long before he’s free, and scrambling out the car and past the fire bots, getting some distance between him and the Lost Hero.

_“He’s all right, folks! Speed is all right!”_ The announcer breathes a sigh of relief. _“What an exciting race, folks!”_

Speed is still getting away from the car, when he runs face first into X Racer.

Who looks absolutely _pissed._

“What the hell were you _thinking?”_ X sneers, grabbing Speed by the scruff of his shirt. “You come here onto _this_ track, wearing clothes like _that,_ driving a car like _that?!”_ He points at the fireball that was the Lost Hero. “Here’s some _advice,_ newbie,” X spits, releasing his grip on Speed. “You _can’t_ get behind the wheel of a car and enter a race you don’t respect and expect to win,” he glares at the kid, fists clenched. “Do yourself and everyone else a favor and drop out if you can’t take this _seriously.”_

Speed winces at the lecture, as X spins on his heel, heading back to get his car off the track.

He passes Connor and Lucy, glaring at them, almost not wanting to believe the nerdy but otherwise unremarkable duo would be so foolhardy and _encouraging_ this no name wannabe into nearly killing himself and the other drivers, let alone the spectators.

“That was amazing!” Connor beams, slinging an arm around Speed’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Th— thanks,” Speed says, frowning as he looks away, moving out from under Connor’s arm. “I’m fine, Connor.”

“I don’t know about ‘amazing,’” Lucy huffs. “What happened to take it easy? And you cut your turns on the outside instead of the inside, and driving backwards on the track is crazy and _dangerous,_ and—” 

“Take it easy, Lucy,” Connor says, frowning. “It’s only his first race. He passed _X Racer,_ that's not nothing!"

“...Good race,” she says reluctantly, more to be polite than anything. “But I can still make you _better!”_

Speed smiles just a little at that. “Thanks, I guess?”

Lucy nods. “Now come on, let’s get you to the infirmary,” she says, offering Speed a hand if he needs it.

He Smiles politely at her, but doesn’t take it.

* * *

“He’ll need a lot of work,” Headmaster Spritle admits. Sitting across from their desk are their two most trusted professors, Professor Armand Aniskov and Professor Suong Nguyen. Both are retired professional racers, but Professor Aniskov had an old teaching degree from the days before the USSR realized how skilled he was behind the wheel. Professor Nguyen only took up teaching after a devastating car accident paralyzed her from the waist down and resulted in the partial amputation of both of her legs; she uses a sleek motorized wheelchair to get around, one she’s tinkered with so it goes at a decent speed and has one killer turning radius. Technically she could have continued racing after that, but after that accident… her racing team fell apart.

“He’s too reckless,” Nguyen says, in a thick Vietnamese accent, folding her arms. She’s wearing an orange polo shirt with a light blue collar, to match the skirt she’s wearing. “His first race and he’s already been in an accident.”

“He could have injured the other students and spectators with that _ridiculous_ maneuver, not to mention the damage he could have done to _himself,_ ” Aniskov says, staring at Spritle with a furrowed brow.

“Considering his car was coming apart at the seams, I think he did what was necessary to win the race— or at least survive it,” Spritle says.

“Survive it?” Aniskov scoffs. “He wasn’t even wearing proper safety gear! Are you _honestly_ showing him special treatment, simply because he shares the same name as your beloved brother?”

Spritle tenses, taking a deep breath, and pretends they didn’t hear that last part. “Speed Williamson Is exactly the kind of driver I founded this school to _teach._ He’s reckless, yes, but he has passion for the sport and skill behind the wheel. Even if we expel him now, he’ll show up on the professional circuit eventually, with or without training,” Spritle says, frowning. “And I’m sure I don’t have to remind either of you about the Delinquent Driver Boom during the 80s. Let alone of how _either_ of you got your start in the professional circuit.”

Aniskov and Nguyen look away.

“Speed Williamson has my vote for official admittance to Racer Academy,” Spritle says, firmly.

Aniskov huffs. “I’m voting against his admittance.”

They both look to Nguyen. “Well, Suong? You have the tiebreaker vote,” Spritle says.

She thinks for a moment, carefully considering what could happen if they admit a student like Speed into their school, especially on a scholarship. She considers what could happen if they _don’t,_ remembering all too well the unprecedented wave of young drivers risking their lives with no training for a sport that was only getting more and more dangerous. She had been one of the original racers who pushed for an international minimum racing age, Aniskov had done his fair share of advocacy in his day, and of course, Spritle had founded this school.

“...I vote to admit him into the Academy,” Professor Nguyen says, smiling, just a bit.

* * *

“You sure you’re okay?” Lucy asks. It’s been a few hours, they all have their schedules for the semester. Right now they’re just taking a walk outside, with Lucy and Connor showing Speed around the campus.

“I’m _fine,_ the doctor said so herself,” Speed says, shrugging it off, pulling up his schedule on his phone. It’s an older model, it still has a keypad, but it connects to the internet all the same.

“There it is!” Connor beams, jogging ahead. “This is the coolest spot on the whole campus!”

Speed blinks, looking up at where Connor’s heading.

It’s a small area off to the side of campus, a circular white rose garden, with benches for seating, and a nine foot tall copper statue of Speed Racer, tarnished and green with age, with the inscription ' _In memory of Speed Racer, for whom this school was founded.'_

“Huh,” Speed says, looking around. “This is nice.”

“Hardly anyone comes out this way,” Lucy explains. “It’s a good place to study if you like working outside.”

“Headmaster Spritle had this built after their brother disappeared, but they keep saying plans for the statue were underway before that,” Connor explains. “We think he just says that to stop the rumors that this place is haunted.”

“Hence why no one comes out here,” Lucy says, shrugging.

“Don’t think I’m weird,” Connor says, putting a hand up like he’s whispering, despite the fact that if anything he’s getting louder. “But sometimes I come out here at night and ask him for advice.”

Speed. Blinks. “The, uh, statue?”

“You know, that _does_ sound weird when I say it out loud,” Connor says, tapping his chin and looking away.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Lucy says, taking a seat at one of the benches. “Come on, Speed, let’s see that schedule.”

Speed nods, sitting next to her as he hands over his phone, Connor peering over her shoulder.

“Hey, you have just about every class with Lucy and I!” Connor beams.

“Well, except you’re not in advanced physics, cartography, auto mechanics, or spotting like me,” Lucy says. “We do always love new members of the program, though.”

“And you’re not in advanced math, auto mechanics, history, English, Spanish, or engineering like me,” Connor says.

Speed stares at Connor. “That just leaves Offensive Driving 101 and Defensive Driving 101. And meals. Unless one of you is taking yoga for a gym credit—”

“Drop that class _now_ before you wind up in the hospital!” Lucy and Connor both exclaim, the latter nearly fainting on the spot.

“I— okay?” Speed blinks, taking his phone back and scanning over the schedule. “So, um, ignoring _that,_ what’s uh... Professor Nguyen like? And where is her class?”

Connor leaps to his feet and starts walking. "Come on, we'll show you!" he says, and he, Lucy, and Speed start walking.

“Professor Nguyen is the best,” Lucy says. “She knows everything there is to know about defensive driving.”

“Hence the reason she’s the defensive driving teacher,” Connor says.

“Is she like that Aniskov guy?” Speed asks, making a face.

“No way, she’s totally nice,” Lucy says.

“Unlike Professor Aniskov, who has _off_ road rage,” Connor says, rolling his eyes. “He _really_ needs to chill out about robots in class.”

They enter one of the main buildings, heading down the hallway towards one of the lecture halls.

“Classes are held inside when it’s too hot out, and on the first and last days of the semester, but they’re usually held outside at the track,” Lucy says, opening the lower classroom door. The lecture hall is a decent size, with about thirty rows of seats, big enough to fit about a hundred students inside comfortably, the first and last rows being reserved for disabled students who can’t use the stairs, with another entrance at the top presumably for students who already happened to be on the second floor of the school. The far wall is basically a massive window, presenting a good view of the track, as well as two concrete domes with desks and chairs underneath. “We’ll show you how to get there, but those teaching bays are hard to miss.”

“Outdoor classes, huh?” Speed grins. “I think I can get used to that.”

CHIM is on the fourth row up, standing on top of a chair in the middle to flag them down.

“Good, CHIM got us the good seats,” Connor says, heading up the stairs and taking a seat.

“Always, always,” CHIM says, doing a little bow as he folds back up into his cube form, resting on top of the desk. Looking more closely at it, the screen on his face stays on one of the cube’s sides, so he can still see out. It doesn’t stop Speed from shuddering at that godawful sound, as he takes his own seat.

Speed pulls out a small device he got from the accessibility office, turning it on and setting it down on the desk. It’s meant to wirelessly connect to a microphone the professor is wearing, holographically projecting real time closed captions. It’s not a perfect system, and to be frank Speed’s never been in a school that had access to this kind of assistive technology, but it’s more than worth a shot. Looking around the classroom, he can see that he’s not even the only one using this type of device.

Professor Nguyen wheels up to her desk, adjusting the microphone on her lapel. “Good afternoon, class. I am Professor Suong Nguyen, I’ll be your defensive driving instructor,” she says, grabbing a stack of copies of the syllabus and handing them to—

Speed sinks a little lower in his seat.

_Why is X Racer in this class?_

“You may notice a few of our second and third year students in this class,” Professor Nguyen says. “They’re here as teacher’s aides, so please show them due respect.”

Seems like X isn’t alone, as Annalise, Jared, and Jesse start helping pass out papers to all hundred or so students in this class. X sneers a little as he catches a glimpse of Speed, while Speed himself just tries not to make eye contact, focusing on the closed caption device he’s growing more and more fond of considering he can barely understand Professor Nguyen’s accent.

Though…

“Hey,” Speed whispers, writing out his question on a note and passing it along, so he doesn’t have to bother focusing on Connor and Professor Nguyen going over upcoming races and when the track is available to use for practice.

_‘Why does Professor Nguyen look familiar?’_

Connor blinks, and starts writing furiously, clicking his pen as he gives Speed way too much information back.

_‘That’s Susan Winn, her real name is Suong Nguyen, the story goes that an American reporter messed up her name really bad back in the 70s, but she kept the name because of what the word win means in English and apparently Nguyen is a really common last name in Vietnam so she wanted to stand out. She used to race with Speed Racer! She retired after he disappeared, did you know she got her start—’_

Speed skims the note and gets the gist.

* * *

Classes last a few hours, until 4:30 pm, with dinner starting at 5:00 and lasting until 7:00 so everyone has a chance to eat.

By the end of it all, Speed is practically falling asleep walking as Connor, CHIM, and Lucy head into one of the dorm lounges, on their way back to their rooms.

“Well, that was an interesting first day,” Speed says, frowning. “Five of my teachers have accents I can’t understand, the most popular people in school hate me, and one of my roommates is a sentient robot.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!” CHIM huffs.

“Plus, our car situation is still a major problem!” Connor says.

Speed blinks, fidgeting. “I… right, that was your project— I am _so_ sorry I wrecked it,” he stammers.

Lucy shrugs. “Hey, you’d have been expelled without it,” she says. “But Connor has a point. We can’t just go out and buy the parts for another car, we’re more than a little lacking in funds.”

“Maybe I can get a job on campus and pay you guys back?” Speed suggests. “Do they even let students get jobs on campus? Or off campus?” He sighs. “I dunno. I’m too wiped out to think straight right now, I’ve just been running on instinct.”

“Instinct can only get you so far in a race, Speed. It’s one of the many things you should learn _here,_ before you think about going out on the professional circuit,” Headmaster Spritle says—

Headmaster Spritle?!

Speed jumps a little, turning around to face the Headmaster, as CHIM salutes them. “Wh—” Speed stammers, looking around the foyer, sure that they were the only ones in here. “Where did you come from, uh— sir?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Spritle says, waving him off. 

“They do this, it's fine,” Connor half-whispers to Speed, making sure he catches it before returning his attention to Spritle.

Spritle clears their throat. “As I was saying, I’m glad I caught up with you four,” they say. “Without a car, Speed, I’m afraid you won’t get much of an education. And Connor, Lucy, passing your classes will be difficult if your project is totaled.”

“I was thinking the same thing, sir…” Speed says, wondering where this is going.

Spritle grins, a gleam in their eye. “Well, then, come with me.”

* * *

As it turns out, the campus itself isn’t the only property Racer Academy has in the area.

Connor holds CHIM in his cube form as they all pile into a four door work truck with Racer Academy’s logo on the side, and head to the school’s junkyard.

“Technically I shouldn’t be doing this,” Headmaster Spritle explains on the way. “But Connor, Lucy, I think what you two did for your fellow student today was admirable, exactly the spirit of kindness and generosity that shouldn’t go unnoticed.” They pull into the junkyard, a RFID tag on the windshield of the truck unlocking the gate. 

Speed smiles at a blushing Connor and Lucy from his spot in the back seat, happy they’re getting some recognition. 

Spritle looks back at him. “And Speed, you impressed me with your performance today. I’m expecting great things from you. Don’t let me down.”

Speed blinks, nodding. “I won’t, sir.”

Spritle parks the truck. “I’ll be here to help haul whatever you find,” they say, as they hop out into the crisp night air.

Connor grins, letting CHIM stretch back out. “We get to root around in the junkyard at night? YAY!”

Spritle chuckles at that. “You’re right to cheer, Connor, broken cars still have working parts. Even if you can’t find everything tonight, this should at least help offset the cost of rebuilding your project, and possibly give Speed something to drive a little more carefully until his own vehicle arrives.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Lucy says as she hops out of the truck.

“I promise not to total this one,” Speed says, sheepishly.

“One more thing,” Headmaster Spritle says, holding up a hand. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to keep track of all five of you in a lot this big. Lucy, you’ve been in the junkyard before and you’re the only second year student here. Can I trust you to help me keep an eye on these three?”

Lucy nods. “Don’t worry about a thing, Headmaster. We’ll be careful.”

As Connor, CHIM, Lucy, and Speed get to work, Spritle stays nearby, answering a few business emails on their phone while he keeps an eye on their students.

Connor is the first to speak. “...Don’t you think it’s kind of weird?”

Speed looks up from the hull of an engine that looks promising. “What?”

“The Headmaster doesn’t usually let students into the junkyard to look for parts,” Connor explains.

“After the _incident,_ I don’t blame him,” CHIM says, lifting up a few car doors to inspect the damage, see if any are worth saving.

“Cut it out,” Connor huffs. “The Headmaster doesn’t like students talking about it.”

“Relax,” CHIM says, nearly going to hand her one before remembering Lucy isn’t a machine and probably shouldn’t be lifting an entire car door without at least some help. “Headmaster Spritle can’t hear us—”

“YES I CAN!” Spritle calls from a few dozen yards away, just before their phone rings.

“Wait, so what happened?” Speed asks, pulling out what looks like a timing belt from the pile of junk he’s standing in front of.

Connor looks to make sure they answer it, and once they’re properly distracted… “Well, after Speed Racer disappeared, the police were looking all over the school for evidence. But when they searched the junkyard, they found a dead body!”

“What?!” Speed drops the timing belt, putting his hands up. At that moment, he can almost swear he’s hearing CHIM making that awful whirring sound.

“No they didn’t,” Lucy says, rolling her eyes as she goes to fish out an old muffler. “Headmaster Spritle doesn’t let students in here because he secretly feeds a pack of coyotes nearby.”

“THERE ARE NO COYOTES IN THE JUNKYARD,” Spritle calls, one hand over their phone. “AND DON’T TELL ANIMAL CONTROL OTHERWISE.”

Speed is tensing up, glancing over at CHIM, who’s just. Standing there, antennae flicking back and forth as he stares off into the distance. He sighs. “Hey, uh, CHIM? I know you have to make that sound when you fold up into cube mode, but it’s _really—”_

“It’s not me,” CHIM says, squinting.

Speed blinks. “Huh?”

Connor just. Stares at Speed. “Dude.”

Lucy looks up from where she’s amassed a decent pile of parts. “Guys seriously what’s that sound?”

Connor points at Speed’s pocket. _“Dude.”_

Speed blinks, and takes out that old car key—

It’s glowing green. 

And humming.

“Okay, that’s— weird,” Speed says, holding it away from him, wondering what the _hell_ is going on.

Spritle looks up from their phone call to see all _that_ , and sighs. “I turn my back for five seconds…” They mumble, as they head over to get a better handle on the situation.

“So, are you going to tell us what’s going on?” Lucy asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me! I’m not doing this!” Speed cries.

“A signal beamed right at us came from that direction,” CHIM says, pointing off into the distance. “Then the key started humming and glowing.”

Connor squints at the key. “Wait— turn it upside down, so the green glowy part is facing the ground.”

Speed… nods, and does so…

Revealing a sort of… grid pattern, being projected from the key. Some of the squares are colored in red

“Oh that’s so cool,” Connor says, grinning as he looks at the projection, almost like he’s trying not to step on it. “This is an old school three dimensional holographic projection, from back when you needed to project onto a solid surface to get a decent image! These babies could only project in red, green, and blue!”

Spritle nods. “It looks like some sort of radar…” they say, pointing at the line the red markings are making. “There’s a target underneath that pile over there.”

Speed nods, and they all split up to follow the map, Speed giving the key to CHIM so he can keep the projection going. 

Lucy picks a line and follows it, twisting and turning until it leads her to a pile of car doors.

“Connor, over here!” She calls, watching Connor peek his head out from a pile of tires before he scrambles over to where Lucy’s at. One by one they lift the doors, setting them aside. 

“What are we looking for—” A rat suddenly scurries out from one underneath a hubcap, running right past Connor’s foot. Immediately, he screams and leaps for Lucy’s arms and she very nearly breaks an ankle trying to catch him and keep her footing at the same time.

“What's wrong with you?!” Lucy huffs.

“W-well—” Connor blinks, noticing the hubcap underneath that pile, letting himself down and picking up the hubcap to get a closer look. “Oh my gosh… I recognize this!”

“What is it?” Lucy asks.

The path Speed followed, meanwhile, led him to a pile of twisted and burned engines. He and Spritle very carefully start looking through the pile, being careful not to collapse the whole thing.

“Hey, guys?” Speed calls, as he catches a glimpse of something that… doesn’t match the rest of the pile. 

Lucy and Connor rush over to help, Connor still clutching that hubcap like his life depends on it.

It was just a glimpse of something white and triangular, at first. Then, as the four of them dig deeper, they see a streak of red, a few dents and scratches, then— 

“No way!” Lucy gasps, glancing at Headmaster Spritle.

It’s the hood of a car, beaten and battered and dented, but still with that unmistakable M logo on the front, after all these years.

“These are parts of _the Mach 5_ ,” Connor gasps, a wild grin on his face as his hands start shaking with excitement. “This is—”

_The find of the century? A major break in an unsolved cold case?_

Speed is practically speechless, wondering how this even happened. But there’s no doubt. This is— “Speed Racer's _car!"_

Spritle stares at the hood of the Mach 5. _The_ Mach 5. There are a million things he thought he’d say, if anyone ever found it.

Turns out all he can manage is a flabbergasted _“What.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Eptpltb fhqbypq fhgf omoq lqvcqks fqy s lxggjawz.


End file.
